


Red Berries

by beaubete



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubete/pseuds/beaubete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts as a diversion, but it threatens to be something much, much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Berries

**Author's Note:**

> So I started to write this for the really, really tasty “Loki puts those glorious hands to use” prompt over on Norsekink, but. Well. I started it with Sif, and they did not agree with where this particular fic was going. This is what happened instead.

It’s filthy, wrong that she would let him…when she’s to marry his brother, but she can’t.  She can’t tell him no, not when his hand slips around her waist so casual, when his eyes flash fire in the hall and it’s all too easy to drop back from the group.  All too easy to let him slip thin, clever fingers along her armor until it catches, falls away, and he places it carefully on the ground.  Thor and the others won’t notice she’s gone; he won’t make a sound until his brother has ambled back to his rooms and he can have her all to himself.

 

And he’d have her in the hall, moaning and panting like a bitch in heat, hair tangling on the rough edge of the stone wall, but that she catches his hand, takes slender wrist between her fingers and kisses his fingers.  Thor is too close, not drunk enough tonight, though Loki’s eyes carry the sweetened heat of the mead until it sings in her blood.  Thor calls out, once, and she moves to leave, to reassure him that she is just behind, but cool fingers cross her face, pinch her lips shut.  Her voice, from over her shoulder and a head up, calls back that she is fine, she has decided to spend the night in her own rooms, thank you, and she could kick Loki for the impropriety he implies, but a hand slides along her ribs to cup a breast, a thumb to flick and pinch at a nipple, and she is suddenly thankful for the gag as she moans into his hand.  Thor agrees readily, and even though it’s not fair, she begrudges him the woman he has waiting for him.  While his brother licks the shell of her ear and squeezes at her ample endowments, she judges Thor unfaithful.

Thor’s footsteps trail away and she turns to Loki.  His eyes laugh, what fun!, but there’s a grit to his jaw, a meanness to the darting tongue that wets his lips.  ”I would have you, Sif,” he says, voice dark and thick and rich.  ”I would have you here, where Thor—my  _brother_ —could see his pretty little slut.  See how she arches for his brother’s hands, see how she pleads for more, begs for it, aches for it,  _yearns_  for the touch of a man.  Any man, even Loki.  He could have you, cat, to purr beneath his hand after a good stroking, couldn’t he?”

A shiver crawls up her back, now.  Loki’s smile widens, thins to see her shoulders set themselves.  ”Please,” she manages, though what she’s asking for, she doesn’t know.  Something like triumph knits across his brow and he touches the sensitive skin in the small of her back before the world lurches and they are in a dark room she has rarely seen.  She is deposited on the bed as he lights the braziers, each bronze disk filling with flame until the air is shimmering around him.  He peels off his armor, leaving his helm at the foot of the bed where the light can catch its lewd curves.  There are furs beneath her, soft and slick like water-beasts, and suddenly he is above her, imposing and solid beyond his lean lines would imply.  He reaches for the cloth that binds her breasts and she starts, pulling away.

“Oh, come now, fair Lady Sif.  Surely you understand how a tryst goes.  How can we enjoy each other when I am the only one doing the enjoying?” he teases, trailing his fingertips across her skin.

“And what if you  _are_  the only one doing the enjoying?” she challenges.  Her heart beats wildly in her chest.  His frame goes very, very still.

“And would you be enjoying if I were Thor?” he asks softly.  A pang hits her; she cannot help her inherent unkindness.  Looking back at her, Loki’s face begins to shift, slide and move until Loki’s frown is seated ill on Thor’s face.  ”Would it make you  _happy_  to fuck Loki only through Thor’s flesh?”  Thor’s hands are huge where they grip her wrists, his arms huge, his thighs huge.  His body, huge.  She can’t help herself; she arches into his grip and Thor’s lips thin, grimacing as he reaches brusquely between her thighs, shoving the folds of fabric away until the heated air of the room chills her damp skin and he can see how wet she is.  ”I see,” he says finally, dropping her hands as if scalded.  He seems to shrink in on himself until he is Loki again, eyes fever-bright with hurt and rage.  ”You would fuck a man not your intended,” he says with biting precision, “you would invite him to touch you, to lap the dew from your thighs and tremble in the hollow of your breast.  So long as he is not Loki.”  The air behind him shivers, warm braziers throwing shadows dark as pitch.

“I never intended—” Sif begins, and he silences her with a hand.

“I believe we’re both aware of that,” he snaps, turning from her.  ”Mistress Ladylove.  Slattern, wench.  You will be my brother’s left-handed wife and he will not know how many you have opened your legs to.  Will he?  Will you tell him?  Lady Tell-Tale, will you confess your sins unto your husband, tell him your adventures sucking cock like a two-penny whore?  You must tell him the best of it all—how you offered yourself up to his brother, only  _no_.  Not even you could sink so low.”  Her armor clatters to the bed, called from the distant hallway and a million years ago.  ”Go.  Go now, or I will tell him myself.”

She spends an interminable time after waiting on tenterhooks, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Thor says nothing, does nothing, knows nothing.  And when she wakes one morning, hair shorn and in disgrace for a crime no more than two can ever know, it’s a relief to see that wicked grin return to Loki’s face.


End file.
